HOLLYHOCK
The Emperor has at last abdicated his throne, as he has long intended,
in favor of the Heir-apparent, and the only child of the Princess
Wistaria is made Heir-apparent to the new Emperor.
The ex-Emperor now lived in a private palace with this Princess in a
less royal style; and the Niogo of Kokiden, to whom was given the
honorary title of ex-Empress, resided in the Imperial Palace with the
Emperor, her son, and took up a conspicuous position. The ex-Emperor
still felt some anxiety about the Heir-apparent, and appointed Genji
as his guardian, as he had not yet a suitable person for that office.
This change in the reigning Emperor, and the gradual advancement of
Genji's position, gave the latter greater responsibility, and he had
to restrain his wandering.
Now, according to usage, the Saigû[80] and Saiin[81] were selected;
for the latter the second sister of the Emperor was chosen, and for
the former the only daughter of the Lady of Rokjiô, whose husband had
been a Royal Prince.
The day of the departure of the Saigû for Ise was not yet fixed; and
the mind of her mother, who had some reasons for dissatisfaction with
Genji, was still wavering in her indecision, whether or not she should
go to Ise with her daughter.
The case of the Saiin, however, was different, and the day of her
installation was soon fixed. She was the favorite child of her mother
as well as of her father, and the ceremonies for the day of
consecration were arranged with especial splendor. The number of
persons who take a share in the procession on this occasion is defined
by regulations; yet the selection of this number was most carefully
made from the most fashionable of the nobles of the time, and their
dresses and saddles were all chosen of beautiful appearance. Genji was
also directed by special order to take part in the ceremony.
As the occasion was expected to be magnificent, every class of the
people showed great eagerness to witness the scene, and a great number
of stands were erected all along the road. The day thus looked forward
to at last arrived.
Lady Aoi seldom showed herself on such occasions; besides, she was now
in a delicate state of health, near her confinement, and had,
therefore, no inclination to go out. Her attendants, however,
suggested to her that she ought to go. "It is a great pity," they
said, "not to see it; people come from a long distance to see it." Her
mother also said, "You seem better to-day. I think you had better go.
Take these girls with you."
Being pressed in this way, she hastily made up her mind, and went with
a train of carriages. All the road was thronged by multitudes of
people, many dressed in a style which is called Tsubo-Shôzok. Many of
great age prostrated themselves in an attitude of adoration, and many
others, notwithstanding their natural plainness, looked almost
blooming, from the joy expressed in their countenances--nay, even nuns
and aged women, from their retreats, were to be seen amongst them.
Numerous carriages were also squeezed closely together, so that the
broad thoroughfare of the Ichijiô road was made almost spaceless.
When, however, the carriages of the Lady Aoi's party appeared, her
attendants ordered several others to make way, and forced a passage to
the spot where the best view could be obtained, and where the common
people were not allowed. Among these happened to be two _ajiro_[82]
carriages, and their inmates were plainly incognito and persons of
rank.
These belonged to the party of the Lady of Rokjiô. When these
carriages were forced to give place, their attendants cried out,
"These carriages do not belong to people who ought to be so abruptly
forced away." But the attendants of the Lady Aoi, who were slightly
under the influence of drink, would not listen to their
expostulations, and they at last made their way and took up their
position, pushing the other two back where nothing could be seen, even
breaking their poles.
The lady so maltreated was of course extremely indignant, and she
would fain have gone home without seeing the spectacle, but there was
no passage for retiring. Meanwhile the approach of the procession was
announced, and only this calmed her a little.
Genji was as usual conspicuous in the procession. There were several
carriages along the roads on whose occupants his glance was cast; that
of Lady Aoi, however, was the most striking, and as he passed by the
attendants saluted him courteously, which act Genji acknowledged. What
were the feelings of the Lady of Rokjiô, who had been driven back, at
this moment!
In due course the procession passed, and the exciting scene of the day
was over. The quarrels about the carriage naturally came to the ears
of Genji. He thought that Lady Aoi was too modest to be the instigator
of such a dispute; but her house was one of great and powerful
families famous for overweening pride, a tendency shared by its
domestics; and they, for other motives, also of rivalry, were glad to
have an opportunity of mortifying the Lady of Rokjiô.
He felt for the wounded lady, and hastened to see her; but she, under
some pretext, refused to see him.
The day of the hollyhock _fête_ of the same temple came. It was
especially grand, as it was the first one after the installation of
the new Saiin, but neither Lady Aoi or the Lady of Rokjiô was present,
while Genji privately took Violet with him in a close carriage to see
the festival, and saw the horse-races.
We have already mentioned that the mind of the Lady of Rokjiô was
still wavering and unsettled whether or not she should go to Ise with
her daughter; and this state of mind became more and more augmented
and serious after the day of the dispute about the carriages, which
made her feel a bitter disdain and jealousy towards the Lady Aoi.
Strange to say, that from about the same time, Lady Aoi became ill,
and began to suffer from spiritual influences. All sorts of exorcisms
were duly performed, and some spirits came forth and gave their names.
But among them was a spirit, apparently a "living one,"[83] which
obstinately refused to be transmitted to the third party. It caused
her great suffering, and seemed not to be of a casual nature, but a
permanent hostile influence. Some imagined this to be the effect of
fearful jealousy of some one who was intimately known to Genji and who
had most influence over him; but the spirit gave no information to
this effect. Hence some even surmised that the wandering spirit of
some aged nurse, or the like, long since dead, still haunted the
mansion, and might have seized the opportunity of the lady's delicate
health, and taken possession of her. Meanwhile at the mansion of
Rokjiô, the lady, when she was informed of the sufferings of Lady Aoi,
felt somewhat for her, and began to experience a sort of compassion.
This became stronger when she was told that the sufferings of the Lady
Aoi were owing to some living spirit. She thought that she never
wished any evil to her; but, when she reflected, there were several
times when she began to think that a wounded spirit, such as her own,
might have some influence of the kind. She had sometimes dreams, after
weary thinking, between slumber and waking, in which she seemed to fly
to some beautiful girl, apparently Lady Aoi, and to engage in bitter
contention and struggle with her. She became even terrified at these
dreams; but yet they took place very often. "Even in ordinary
matters," she thought, "it is too common a practice, to say nothing of
the good done by people, but to exaggerate the bad; and so, in such
cases, if it should be rumored that mine was that living spirit which
tormented Lady Aoi, how trying it would be to me! It is no rare
occurrence that one's disembodied spirit, after death, should wander
about; but even that is not a very agreeable idea. How much more,
then, must it be disagreeable to have the repute that one's living
spirit was inflicting pain upon another!"
These thoughts still preyed upon her mind, and made her listless and
depressed.
In due course, the confinement of Lady Aoi approached. At the same
time, the jealous spirit still vexed her, and now more vigorous
exorcising was employed. She became much affected by it, and cried
out, "Please release me a little; I have something to tell the
Prince."
Hereupon he was ushered into the room. The curtain was dropped, and
the mother of the lady left the room, as she thought her daughter
might prefer to speak to him in private. The sound of the spells
performed in the next chamber ceased, and Hoke-kiô was read in its
place. The lady was lying on her couch, dressed in a pure white
garment, with her long tresses unfastened. He approached her, and
taking her hand, said: "What sad affliction you cause us!" She then
lifted her heavy eyelids, and gazed on Genji for some minutes.
He tried to soothe her, and said, "Pray don't trouble yourself too
much about matters. Everything will come right. Your illness, I think,
will soon pass away. Even supposing you quit this present world, there
is another where we shall meet, and where I shall see you once more
cheerful, and there will be a time when your mother and father will
also join you."
"Ah! no. I only come here to solicit you to give me a little rest. I
feel extremely disturbed. I never thought of coming here in such a
way; but it seems the spirit of one whose thoughts are much
disconcerted wanders away unknown even to itself.
Oh, bind my wandering spirit, pray,
Dear one, nor let it longer stray."
The enunciation of these words was not that of Lady Aoi herself; and
when Genji came to reflect, it clearly belonged to the Lady of Rokjiô.
Always before, when anyone had talked with him about a living spirit
coming to vex Lady Aoi, he felt inclined to suppress such ideas; but
now he began to think that such things might really happen, and he
felt disturbed. "You speak thus," said Genji, as if he was addressing
the spirit, "but you do not tell me who you are. Do, therefore, tell
me clearly." At these words, strange to say, the face of the Lady Aoi
seemed momentarily to assume the likeness of that of Rokjiô. On this,
Genji was still more perplexed and anxious, and put a stop to the
colloquy. Presently she became very calm, and people thought that she
was a little relieved. Soon after this, the lady was safely delivered
of a child.
Now, to perform due thanksgiving for this happy deliverance, the head
of the monastery on Mount Hiye and some other distinguished priests
were sent for. They came in all haste, wiping off the perspiration
from their faces as they journeyed; and, from the Emperor and Royal
princes down to the ordinary nobles, all took an interest in the
ceremony of Ub-yashinai (first feeding), and the more so as the child
was a boy.
To return to the Lady of Rokjiô. When she heard of the safe delivery
of Lady Aoi, a slightly jealous feeling once more seemed to vex her;
and when she began to move about, she could not understand how it was,
but she perceived that her dress was scented with a strange odor.[84]
She thought this most surprising, and took baths and changed her
dress, in order to get rid of it; but the odor soon returned, and she
was disgusted with herself.
Some days passed, and the day of autumn appointments arrived. By this
time, Lady Aoi's health seemed progressing favorably, and Genji left
her in order to attend the Court.
When he said good-by to her, there was a strange and unusual look in
her eyes. Sadaijin also went to Court, as well as his sons, who had
some expectation of promotion, and there were few people left in the
mansion.
It was in the evening of that day that Lady Aoi was suddenly attacked
by a spasm, and before the news of this could be carried to the Court,
she died.
These sad tidings soon reached the Court, and created great distress
and confusion: even the arrangements for appointments and promotion
were disturbed. As it happened late in the evening there was no time
to send for the head of the monastery, or any other distinguished
priest. Messengers of inquiry came one after another to the mansion,
so numerous that it was almost impossible to return them all answers.
We need not add how greatly affected were all her relations.
As the death took place from a malign spiritual influence, she was
left untouched during two or three days, in the hope that she might
revive; but no change took place, and now all hope was abandoned. In
due course the corpse was taken to the cemetery of Toribeno. Numerous
mourners and priests of different churches crowded to the spot, while
representatives of the ex-Emperor, Princess Wistaria, and the
Heir-apparent also were present. The ceremony of burial was performed
with all solemnity and pathos.
Thus the modest and virtuous Lady Aoi passed away forever.
Genji forthwith confined himself to his apartment in the grand mansion
of Sadaijin, for mourning and consolation. Tô-no-Chiûjiô, who was now
elevated to the title of Sammi, constantly bore him company, and
conversed with him both on serious and amusing subjects. Their
struggle in the apartment of Gen-naishi, and also their rencontre in
the garden of the "Saffron Flower," were among the topics of their
consoling conversation.
It was on one of these occasions that a soft shower of rain was
falling. The evening was rendered cheerless, and Tô-no-Chiûjiô came to
see him, walking slowly in his mourning robes of a dull color. Genji
was leaning out of a window, his cheek resting on his hand; and,
looking out upon the half-fading shrubberies, was humming--
"Has she become rain or cloud?
'Tis now unknown."
Tô-no-Chiûjiô gently approached him. They had, as usual, some pathetic
conversation, and then the latter hummed, as if to himself--
"Beyond the cloud in yonder sky,
From which descends the passing rain,
Her gentle soul may dwell,
Though we may cease to trace its form in vain."
This was soon responded to by Genji:--
"That cloudy shrine we view on high,
Where my lost love may dwell unseen,
Looks gloomy now to this sad eye
That looks with tears on what has been."
There was among the faded plants of the garden a solitary
Rindô-nadeshko.[85] When Tô-no-Chiûjiô had gone, Genji picked this
flower, and sent it to his mother-in-law by the nurse of the infant
child, with the following:--
"In bowers where all beside are dead
Survives alone this lovely flower,
Departed autumn's cherished gem,
Symbol of joy's departed hour."[86]
Genji still felt lonely. He wrote a letter to the Princess Momo-zono
(peach-gardens). He had known her long. He admired her, too. She had
been a spectator, with her father, on the day of the consecration of
the Saiin, and was one of those to whom the appearance of Genji was
most welcome. In his letter he stated that she might have a little
sympathy with him in his sorrow, and he also sent with it the
following:--
"Many an autumn have I past
In gloomy thought, but none I ween
Has been so mournful as the last,
Which rife with grief and change hath been."
There was, indeed, nothing serious between Genji and this princess;
yet, as far as correspondence was concerned, they now and then
exchanged letters, so she did not object to receiving this
communication. She felt for him much, and an answer was returned, in
which she expressed her sympathy at his bereavement.
Now, in the mansion of Sadaijin every performance of requiem was
celebrated. The forty-ninth day had passed, and the mementoes of the
dead, both trifling and valuable, were distributed in a due and
agreeable manner; and Genji at length left the grand mansion with the
intention of first going to the ex-Emperor, and then of returning to
his mansion at Nijiô. After his departure, Sadaijin went into the
apartment occupied till lately by him. The room was the same as
before, and everything was unchanged; but his only daughter, the
pride of his old days, was no more, and his son-in-law had gone too.
He looked around him for some moments. He saw some papers lying about.
They were those on which Genji had been practising penmanship for
amusement--some in Chinese, others in Japanese; some in free style,
others in stiff. Among these papers he saw one on which the words "Old
pillows and old quilts" were written, and close to these the
following:--
"How much the soul departed, still
May love to linger round this couch,
My own heart tells me, even I
Reluctant am to leave it now."
And on another of these papers, accompanying the words, "The white
frost lies upon the tiles," the following:--
"How many more of nights shall I
On this lone bed without thee lie;
The flower has left its well-known bed,
And o'er its place the dews are shed."
As Sadaijin was turning over these papers a withered flower, which
seems to have marked some particular occasion, dropped from amongst
them.
Return we now to Genji. He went to the ex-Emperor, to whom he still
seemed thin and careworn. He had some affectionate conversation with
him, remained till evening, and then proceeded to his mansion at
Nijiô. He went to the western wing to visit the young Violet. All were
habited in new winter apparel, and looked fresh and blooming.
"How long it seems since I saw you!" he exclaimed. Violet turned her
glance a little aside. She was apparently shy, which only increased
her beauty.
He approached, and after having a little conversation, said, "I have
many things to say to you, but now I must have a little rest," and
returned to his own quarters.
The next morning, first of all he sent a letter to Sadaijin's, making
inquiry after his infant child.
At this time he confined himself more than usual to his own house, and
for companionship he was constantly with Violet, who was now
approaching womanhood. He would sometimes talk with her differently
from the manner in which he would speak to a mere girl; but on her
part she seemed not to notice the difference, and for their daily
amusement either Go or Hentski[87] was resorted to, and sometimes they
would play on till late in the evening.
Some weeks thus passed away, and there was one morning when Violet did
not appear so early as usual. The inmates of the house, who did not
know what was the reason, were anxious about her, thinking she was
indisposed. About noon Genji came. He entered the little room, saying,
"Are you not quite well? Perhaps you would like to play at Go again,
like last night, for a change;" but she was more than ever shy.
"Why are you so shy?" he exclaimed; "be a little more cheerful--people
may think it strange," said he, and stayed with her a long time trying
to soothe her; but to no effect--she still continued silent and shy.
This was the evening of Wild Boar's day, and some _mochi_ (pounded
rice cake) was presented to him, according to custom, on a tray of
plain white wood.
He called Koremitz before him and said, "To-day is not a very
opportune day; I would rather have them to-morrow evening. Do send in
some to-morrow.[88] It need not be of so many colors." So saying, he
smiled a little, and sharp Koremitz soon understood what he meant. And
this he accordingly did on the morrow, on a beautiful flower-waiter.
Up to this time nothing about Violet had been publicly known, and
Genji thought it was time to inform her father about his daughter; but
he considered he had better have the ceremony of Mogi first performed,
and ordered preparations to be made with that object.
Let us here notice that the young daughter of Udaijin, after she saw
Genji, was longing to see him again. This inclination was perceived by
her relations. It seems that her father was not quite averse to this
liking, and he told his eldest daughter, the reigning Emperor's
mother, that Genji was recently bereaved of his good consort, and that
he should not feel discontented if his daughter were to take the place
of Lady Aoi; but this the royal mother did not approve. "It would be
far better for her to be introduced at Court," she said, and began
contriving to bring this about.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 80: The sacred virgin of the temple of Ise.]
[Footnote 81: The same of Kamo, which is situated in the neighborhood
of Kiôto, the then capital.]
[Footnote 82: "Ajiro" means woven bamboo, and here it signifies a
carriage made of woven bamboo.]
[Footnote 83: Before proceeding with the story, it is necessary for
the reader to peruse the following note: In Japan there existed, and
still more or less exists, a certain superstition which is
entertained, that the spirits of the dead have the power of inflicting
injury on mankind; for instance, a woman when slighted or deserted,
dies, her spirit often works evil on the man who forsook her, or on
her rival. This is the spirit of the dead. There is also another
belief that the spirits of the living have sometimes the same power,
but in this case it only takes place when one is fiercely jealous.
When this spirit works upon the rival, the owner of the spirit is not
aware of it; but she herself becomes more gloomy, as if she had, as it
were, lost her own spirit. These spirits can be exorcised, and the act
is performed by a certain sect of priests; but the living one is
considered far more difficult to exorcise than the other, because it
is imagined that the dead spirit can be easily "laid," or driven back
to the tomb, while the living one, being still in its present state,
cannot be settled so easily. The method of exorcism is as follows:
Certain spells are used on the sufferer, and certain religious
addresses are read from the Buddhist bibles, and then the sufferer is
made to speak out all his subjects of complaint; but it is supposed
not to be the man himself who speaks and tells these causes of
complaint, but the spirit of which he is possessed. This process is
sometimes performed on a third party; in that case the priest
temporarily transmits the spirit from the sufferer to the substitute
and makes it speak with his mouth. When he has told all the causes of
his complaint and wrongs, the priest sometimes argues with him,
sometimes chides, sometimes soothes, and sometimes threatens, and at
last says to the spirit, "If you do not go out quietly, I will confine
you by my sacred power." By such means the spirit is exorcised; the
process resembles mesmerism in some points, but of course has no
sensible foundation. In other cases the spirits of those who have
either recently, or even years before, met with cruel wrongs or death,
may in their wanderings seize upon some person in the vicinity, though
totally unconnected with the crime done upon them, and may cause them
suffering, or even spirits, who from any cause, are unable to obtain
rest, may do the same thing.]
[Footnote 84: In the ceremony of exorcism a sacred perfume is burnt,
and it was this scent which the Lady of Rokjiô perceived in her
garment because her spirit was supposed to go to and fro between
herself and Lady Aoi, and to bring with it the smell of this perfume.]
[Footnote 85: A kind of pink; some translate it Gentian.]
[Footnote 86: Here the flower is compared to the child, and autumn to
the mother.]
[Footnote 87: "Hentski," a children's game. It consists in choosing
beforehand a "hen" or half-character, opening a book and seeing which
of the players can most quickly pick out the words beginning with this
"hen."]
[Footnote 88: It seemed to have been the ancient custom, that on the
third night of a wedding, the same kind of rice cake, but only of one
color, was served up.]